Wo ist das Meer?

i´m right now reading this book Att komma hem ska vara en schlager by Per Hagman and it´s quite funny. This is the story of a 33 years old swede, who lived a lot between France and Sweden. He´s a bit bored by his life style and try to find his right place and does travel a lot in train around France. Through the book, he explains what he did before, how was his lifeI think he´s a clever swede: he can distinguishe the qualities and pervers sides from the french (but this, all the foreign people can do it, you just have not to feel french patriotic :) ) and he also does enounce some strange sides from Sweden, that I remarked myself before. I mean, he´s clever because to have distance with his own country and homeland, it´s not common. Most of the time, anyway what happen, people feels strong associated with their land and cannot see the bad sides.

Fransmännens arabrädsla verkar ibland nästan vara större än amerikanernas, men förmodligen beror der bara på att den är djupt rotad i foksjälen att den blivit lika ihåligt pittoresk som baskern med baguetten.
The fear of arabers from the french is sometimes bigger than this one from the americaners but it´s maybe just because it´s deep in the people mind that it has been deep dug like the basques and their baguettes.Innan jag kom till Marseille trodde jag att det arabiskt elle snarare kabiliskt präglade barlivet skulle te sig ungefär som det i Barbès eller Belleville i Paris. Men det här är alldeles magiskt annorlunda.
Before I arrived in Marseille, i believed that  the arab or at least the invented  cabilist bar -life  will be nearly the same as this one in Barbès or Belleville in Paris. But,  it was completly magically  different.

Tyvärr blir jag efter mina första dagar i denna romantiskt hårda stad mer och mer uppskrämd av varje fransk taxichaufför, fransk hotellportier eller fransk bartender jag träffar. Alltid samma dialog. “första gången du är i Marseille?” “Ja.” “Akta dig för araberna!”
Unfortunatly , after my first days in this romantic ciyt I became more and more afraid of every french taxi-driver, french hotell-groom or french bartender that I could meet. Always the same speach. “first time in Marseille?” “yes” “take care of the arabs!”

Allt strålande borta och allt grått framträder så tydligt ellle lindar liksom in mig i mörka slöjor: videobutiker, minimalism, kvinnor som är stolta över att inte göra sig vackra, Seven Eleven, Dagens Nyheter, Absolut Vodka, bake-up ciabatt i plast, storkök och veganer, gråmulen februarieftermiddag i Stockholm. allt så tomt och grått att man hjälplös vill lägga sig ner och gråta som ett litet barn.
All the shines away and grey appears so clear or happens like in me in a dark voile: videoshop, minimalism, women who are proud not to make themself beautiful, Seven Eleven, Dagens Nyheter, Absolut vodka, bake-up ciabatta in a plastic, grey clouds in a februar afternoon in Stockholm. all so empty and grey that one will just helpless sitt down and cry like a litle child.